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Ghost’s hands loosened their death grip on the steering wheel as the Las Almas skyline faded from view. On the edge of town, where the roads grew steeper and greener, was a safehouse Alejandro had given Ghost the details of, in case worse came to worst. And if this wasn’t the worst-case scenario right now, he didn’t know what was.
Fleeing the city in a stolen pickup truck with one of the only two people he felt he could trust in the moment, the other “detained” with the rest of his men. Soap was injured; Ghost had no idea how badly beyond the heavily saturated bloodstains on one shirt sleeve. Both of them on limited weapons, ammo, and supplies, without an ally in sight. The situation couldn’t get much worse.
To his right, Soap suddenly swayed from his position where he’d been looking down his sights at anyone who might try following them out of the city. Until then, Ghost had nearly forgotten he was there, he had been so uncharacteristically quiet.
“Soap, sit rep.” His eyes stayed on the road ahead, but in his peripheral vision, he could see Soap’s shoulders jerk in surprise.
“A-appears t-to be c-clear, Lt.” Ghost looked over to see Soap shivering violently, grip shaking far too much to make a decent shot even if they were being followed. His gear, clothes, and hair were drenched, dripping puddles onto the floor of the cab as he squinted into the darkness behind them.
Shit. “Fuckin’ hell, Johnny, why didn’t you say something?” Ghost swore under his breath as he searched his pockets with one hand, still driving with the other. Shit, shit, shit.
Soap mumbled something Ghost couldn’t distinguish between the lack of enunciation and the thickness of his accent; hell, it might not have even been in English. Glancing over again, he saw Soap fighting to keep his eyes open, fingers stiffly readjusting their position on the handgun as he slumped down into the passenger seat.
His search proving fruitless, Ghost growled to himself and changed tactics. Without a stim shot to keep Soap awake, he’d have to keep him talking. Again.
“Soap, do you remember goin’ through the tunnels? The ones on the way to the church?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“How cold was the water?”
“F-fuckin’ c-cold,” Soap swore, leaning his head back to rest on the seat as his eyes closed. He pulled his arms closely around his torso, trying to suppress his own shivering.
Ghost sighed. Mexico didn’t often reach below freezing, but he recalled seeing steam rising from grates in Las Almas, so it had to be close. Cold water and the nighttime temperatures were not a good combination. “That’s what I was afraid of. Soap, look at me.” Dazed gray-blue eyes blinked open slowly to meet his own. “You’re hypothermic. I need you to stay awake and stay focused till we get to the safehouse.”
“S-safeho-house?” The chattering of his teeth was hard to ignore. God, the man looked like a kitten plucked from a gutter, full-body tremors rattling the gun in his hand and water dripping down his face from his hair.
“And gimme the damn gun,” Ghost added, taking the weapon and flicking the safety on before Soap’s fumbling hands could cause any accidents. “Alejandro told me ‘bout a safehouse, in case we needed it. Once we get there, we’ll get you warmed up. Until then, I need you awake and alive, you understand?”
Soap nodded, but he looked moments away from falling asleep, curling in on himself even more now that his hands were free. Blood mixed with the water in his gear and clothing, running down his arm in pinkish streams. He mumbled something, lost to the wind roaring through the broken windows. Fuck, that probably wasn’t helping him keep warm either.
“C’mere.” Ghost brusquely offered his right arm towards Soap, his left still on the wheel. When Soap made no indication of moving or even understanding his command, he huffed. “We busted the side windows and the back, but not the windscreen, so you’ll be warmer in the middle. You need to keep your body temp up and I can block you from the wind on this side at least.”
Soap cautiously moved over until he was stiffly positioned under Ghost’s arm. Neither of them allowed for more physical contact than necessary, Ghost maintaining a light but firm hold on the other man, just enough to keep him from bouncing around in the truck. There wasn’t much either of them could do about the way Soap shook, occasionally strong tremors tearing down his spine and rocking the both of them. A few minutes passed like that with nothing said. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Ghost was tense and the silence from his usually chatty companion made him even more unnerved.
“What’s red and bad for your teeth?”
Soap startled from under his arm. “W-what?”
“A brick.”
Ghost felt the corners of his lips relax a fraction at Soap’s unexpected snort of laughter. “Th-that w-was...worse’n the t-tank one.”
“Alright, how ‘bout this one. What’s the difference between a baby and a potato?”
“D-dunno.”
“About 140 calories.”
At his side, Ghost could feel Soap shaking his head. “B-blood-dy J-Jesus, ‘s awful. The h-hell you c-come up with…with all th-these?” His voice faded towards the end, leaving him almost breathless.
Ghost relaxed his arm enough to comfortably rest on the sergeant’s shoulders before answering, “You pick up some pretty dark humor working these sorts of jobs.” Soap hummed in understanding, swiftly recalling the number of corpses he’d just found himself sneaking around and taking from. The mood sobered and they lapsed into unsettled silence once again.
Just as Ghost started building up the courage to pull Soap closer—because dear God,the man was shivering hard enough it had to hurt—he felt something press into his chest and stilled.
In small, stolen glances, he put together a picture of what was going on next to him. Soap was barely awake, eyelids fluttering at steady intervals, with the side of his face tucked against Ghost’s collarbone. It didn’t look particularly comfortable with his tactical vest’s bulk in the way, but Soap’s shaking had lessened by a degree, so Ghost was hesitant to push him away. Instead, he found himself murmuring comforting nonsense the rest of the way to the safehouse.
“We’re almost there, Johnny. Just gotta hold on a little longer for me, alright?”
Every hum or nod he got in return kept the panic at bay long enough to manage the rest of the drive without falling apart any more than they already had. They stumbled out of the truck together, Soap hanging off of Ghost’s larger frame with what little energy he could muster to keep himself upright. His eyes spent more time closed than opened, but Ghost could hear him mumble curses every few steps.
“We made it, Johnny,” Ghost breathed in relief as they approached the building. There was enough light starting to shine over the horizon to see the glistening metal laid out on the grass. “Pressure plates; not a fan of unexpected company. Soap, still with me?” He adjusted his grip around Soap’s shoulders, heaving the man’s dead weight like he was a sack of potatoes. “Soap?”
A pained groan answered, muffled against the thick fabric of Ghost’s outerwear. They were running out of time; Soap’s grip was all but gone, leaving Ghost to hold him up by force. Scanning the outside of the building, he didn’t see anything more appealing than the large open windows, but he was hesitant to leave Soap alone.
“Soap, I need you to be really awake for a minute here,” Ghost instructed, already shifting Soap’s weight towards the exterior wall between the doors and windows. Leaning him back and settling him down as gently as he could reasonably manage, Ghost gripped Soap’s chin in one gloved hand and directed it towards his own face. “Eyes open, Sergeant. That’s an order.”
First one, then both eyes cracked open enough to confirm that Soap was at least partially aware. Ghost swore a colorful mouthful as he realized that Soap was no longer shivering. “I need to see if this place is safe. I need you to stay put and keep those damn eyes open. Do you understand me?” Soap nodded slowly and Ghost tightened his grip. “Out loud, soldier.”
“Yes…sir,” Soap whispered between shallow breaths. He sounded utterly exhausted, but he was still speaking. That was the only thing keeping Ghost moving; if Soap still had a fighting spirit, all he needed was a place to rest and recuperate. And giving direct orders was the best way Ghost could think of to keep Soap focused, even if he seemed the smallest bit hurt by the sudden intensity.
“Good man,” Ghost murmured, straightening and preparing to enter the building. Alone.
…
”—not shivering anymore, I told you! That’s why we need to hurry.”
“I think we have some spare clothes and blankets in the loft, right over—yes, up there. I’ve almost finished stitching him up.”
“What about a fire?”
“Can’t risk it. Smoke would give us away and this place is full of gunpowder. But we can use the straw to help insulate him, keep him from losing any more heat.”
“…”
“He’s going to pull through, Ghost. Soap’s strong. He wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise. Or without you.”
“…”
“If you change out of your damp layers, you can stay with him a while. I need to keep an eye out for anyone else that might be looking for us or Alejandro. Just—shout if you need anything. Or if he changes. Have faith, amigo.”
…
Consciousness came slowly, dragging his self-awareness with it. Bits and pieces of memories or dreams—or even both—flickered through his mind in a jumble of sensations before Soap could finally discern what was going on.
He was in someone else’s clothes. That he could tell immediately because of how well his own uniform fit him; whatever he was in was a little too tight for his comfort. He didn’t feel his boots, but his whole body was weighed down by something. And he was nearly sweating from a source of heat at his side, something beyond the mess of blankets and straw he could make out with his bleary eyes. The throbbing in his shoulder was reduced to a dull ache, the whole limb sluggish and weak.
Abruptly, the vaguely human-shaped lump to his left stirred, and with it, Soap felt the pressure across his chest increase. His arms were tucked against his own sides and it seemed a veritable cocoon of blankets was holding them in position. He could probably wriggle himself out if he tried, but, if he was honest with himself, he felt more secure than he’d felt in a long time. The blood loss probably contributed to his hazy state of mind and he found himself content to rest awhile longer.
Unfortunately, the peaceful atmosphere he floated in and out of was broken by another sharp movement next to him, this time removing the pressure from before. Blankets and straw alike were thrown about as a shadowy figure bolted upright next to him. In the thin rays of sunlight that crept through the room, Soap could make out a familiar white mask sewn into dark fabric.
Stupidly, his first thought was, he really does sleep with it on.
His second thought was, oh, shit.
Because Ghost was breathing hard, tearing himself out of the nest of straw and blankets like it was aflame. Soap had never seen such sheer panic from him before, causing his own heart rate to spike. Without thinking, he followed suit, but a forceful reminder of his injury stopped him dead. Only about halfway uncovered, he sat there clutching his arm as he breathed curses through radiating waves of pain.
“Shit—Johnny, I—” Ghost was backing away, hands out with his palms open. Every part of his body language was telegraphing that he wasn’t a threat, but he wasn’t sure he should get close. As the agony in his shoulder faded, Soap noted that he’d never seen Ghost try to make himself small like this before. It was…strange.
“I’m—argh—I’m alright, Lt. My own fault,” Soap said as casually as he could manage. How exactly had he found himself sleeping next to his commanding officer to begin with? And Ghost, lightly dusted with straw, was still standing there like he was afraid. Afraid of what, Soap wasn’t quite sure.
“You mind,” Soap cleared his throat harshly, dry from disuse. “You mind tellin’ me what the hell happened? I remember bookin’ it outta Las Almas, but then…nothin’.” He rubbed his arm and moved to get up, but Ghost was faster. Back at his side, Ghost laid a heavy hand on his good shoulder. “Don’t—don’t get up just yet. Lost a lot of blood. Here.” A bottle of water was placed in Soap’s lap.
Awkwardly, Ghost sat back down in the space he’d taken up previously. Soap drank about half the bottle before a hand pulled it away. “Slow. You’re gonna make yourself sick,” Ghost admonished gruffly, staring straight ahead.
Soap leaned back into the makeshift bed of straw. “Where are we? And where’re my clothes?”
Ghost sighed, twisting a single stalk of straw between gloved fingertips. “Alejandro’s safehouse. Rodolfo’s here, helped me patch you up. Had to ditch your gear cause it was soaking wet, had you hypothermic. Nearly lost you, Johnny.” His eyes never left his own hand, steadfastly avoiding Soap’s gaze.
“…The tunnels,” Soap realized dimly. “I didn’t even think about the water. Was too busy tryin’ to get back to you.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t have,” Ghost muttered darkly. The straw he’d been twisting came apart in his palm, which clenched into a fist.
Soap frowned. “Ghost? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ghost stood, walking to a concrete pillar to lean against it. He faced Soap, but his mask was dipped in shadow. “Not my first time getting fucked over by someone in charge. You wanna know why I go by ‘Ghost’?” He didn’t wait for an answer before he continued, “Stopped goin’ by Simon Riley around the time I got buried alive with the corpse of the man who betrayed my unit, the cartel we were after tried to brainwash me, and my former men killed the only family I ever cared about.”
Soap felt his heart drop to his stomach. He’d known Ghost had a rough past, but had never learned the details. There was nothing he could say to comfort or console something like that. And while he was honored to be trusted enough for Ghost to tell him that, he wasn’t quite sure why he had.
“You’d think all that would teach a damn good lesson, wouldn’t you?” Ghost whispered, staring at his hands.
“Jesus, Lt. You can’t really be blamin’ yourself for this, can you?” Soap exclaimed, rising to his feet on wobbly legs. Ghost twitched, betraying his instinct to go to his side. “This isn’t—if it’s your fault—if you think Graves and Shepherd and all their doin’ is on you, then it’s on me, too. We were all there. Hell, they either fooled Price too, or Price managed to fool both of us.”
“It happened on my watch,” Ghost started in a low growl, but cut himself off as Soap lurched sideways, clutching his head. “Johnny!” It only took a couple steps to reach him, guiding him by the shoulders back to the blankets and sitting down at his side. Their argument was all but forgotten as Ghost hovered anxiously.
“Sorry, Lt,” Soap groaned, forcing a weak smile. Out of breath and pale, he leaned into Ghost’s hold for a moment. “Guess I lost a little more blood than I remembered.”
“Bloody idiot.” Ghost still had a hand on the back of Soap’s good shoulder and suddenly pulled it away. “I’m…sorry. About earlier. Wakin’ you and all that.”
Soap glanced over nervously. “Was it because of the shite you went through with that other cartel? You don’t have to tell me, I’m just…” He trailed off, uncertain of Ghost’s new vulnerability with him.
“Yeah. I, uh, still get nightmares sometimes. Woke up and felt trapped under all the blankets I think. Didn’t mean to freak you out, too. Didn’t even mean to fall asleep. When we got here last night, you’d stopped shivering, so I knew it was gettin’ bad. Rodolfo got the blankets and clothes around, but you were still so cold. Figured one of us would stay with you, try and share body heat and all. Guess I was more tired than I thought.” Ghost absentmindedly rubbed the back of one hand with the other, a self-soothing motion, as he rambled.
“Been a stressful twenty-four hours,” Soap mused with a yawn. Fatigue was settling into his muscles, already exhausted again. “Jesus, I’m still fuckin’ tired. You wouldn’t happen to have any adrenaline on you, would you?”
Ghost shook his head. “’Fraid not. But I think we can rest a bit longer. Rodolfo wanted to wait and see if any of their crew would show up here, if they managed to escape Graves. Until he says so, we’re not goin’ anywhere.” He stood to leave, adding, “I should go check in with him, let him know how you’re doin’.”
“Wait—” Soap grabbed Ghost’s wrist, loosening his grip but not letting go once he had his attention. “You’ll…you’ll come right back here, right?” If anyone asked, he’d blame the tremor in his voice on the blood loss he was still clearly recovering from.
Ghost’s eyes softened, just discernible through the eyeholes of the mask. “Course, Johnny. Not goin’ anywhere without you.”
“Mmkay,” Soap hummed, finally letting Ghost go and lying down. “You should sleep, too. We can take shifts, if it would help.” Through half-open eyes, he met Ghost’s gaze and watched him nod once. Satisfied, Soap let himself drift off.
…
When Ghost came back, Soap was fast asleep and snoring quietly. Carefully, Simon slotted himself amongst the covers to tuck himself against his side. Johnny hummed back in his throat, sleepily inching closer with the hint of a smile. Simon swore he’d never tell a soul about the way his heart stuttered at the sight.